


let no sorrows fall onto your weeping shoulders

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based of of a prompt or something I saw </p><p>Character A blaming themselves for Character B's death and character B's ghost comforting Character A.</p><p>Just a drabble really</p>
            </blockquote>





	let no sorrows fall onto your weeping shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to post to an account yet but I'll leave my tumblr username on any work that's mine. 
> 
> \- Rotosalt
> 
> Also, I'm doing everything from mobile so I apologize for the lack of italics and all that snazzy snuff you see in the good fics. But after I've written I'm really too lazy to do all that extra stuff.

There's endless falling, not touching anything because there's nothing there to touch. Nothing to hear or to see or to taste. Nothing apart from the small, choked sounds he makes as something sick wraps itself around his throat and tightens. 

He reaches out around him and the bedsheets crumple beneath scarred fingertips before being curled into fists. He can see his eyes, soft like morning dew and clear like the sky after a good rain. His lips are forming words, forgotten in old age, he thinks though, that he's saying his name. Over and over again, like a prayer, like an unanswered question, like a demand, like everything all at once and something blooms in his chest. Betrayal, pain, longing. Emptiness.

Emptiness like never before, beating at his ribcage in an indescribable desperation for the past. Everything hurts. A dull pressure against the back of his skull, the beating at his chest, aching lungs. He tries to get up and get water, get to the restroom, get help. But he can't. He's immobilized and he supposes he deserves it.

________________________

He stands there, at the edge, dark hair whipping in the wind, cars beeping and people screaming. There's the blare of sirens in the back, rushing to get to him. He who waits at the edge. 

There's a voice calling out his name. 

“Cas!” Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. 

So he calls back the only thing he can think. “Dean.” 

“Let me through, move! Get the hell out of the way!” And the paramedics are pushing Dean back and they're lifting him up onto a gurney. And they're wheeling him away and he tries to scream out to get Dean's attention. He's trying but it hurts to breath and his chest is collapsing upon itself and his heart is collapsing upon itself and it's slowing. 

His lungs are slowing and his heart is slowing and his brain is turning to mush and slowing.

The paramedics are calmer than he thinks someone who's got a man dying in the back of their van should be but that's their job. “...critical organ failure… extreme blood loss…”

They're monotone and dull and they lull him near sleep. And he's repeating the name over and over with what's left of his breath. And suddenly Dean is beside him and he's gripping his hand and telling them to hang in there. He's near whispering the name now. Half of it always catching and breaking off somewhere in a barely there voice.

He takes to mouthing it eventually, swollen eyes falling shut, bloodied lip still moving. There's blood everywhere.

There's a drip and it's so obviously not his blood that he pries his eyes open and forces himself to look at Dean. He can't speak, can barely move. And when he reaches an arm up, groaning as some ligament in his shoulder screams, the paramedics scream too. 

There's pain. So much pain. But it's worth it to see the smile that breaks out on Dean's face. He traces his fingers down his jaw weakly and without tact but the skin is there and it's under his fingertips so he cries tears of joy. 

He's still mouthing the name when his knees grow too weak and he falls over the edge. 

________________________

His breath is rapid now, falling over tallow skin and white sheets. Dean feels it. The chill and the hand on his shoulder. The familiar cold air against his neck and ear. He thinks, every time, that he can hear Cas speaking to him. 

But it's just a guilty conscience, he knows it. 

Still it's comforting. There's an aura about the air that makes him weep but calm. And he leans into it. Whatever it is. The chill, the hand. The empty air. The lonely bed. 

“I'm sorry, Cas. I'm so sorry.” 

 

He reaches up and smooths Dean's hair. His lips are at his neck, whispering tiny little things that Dean will never hear. 

“I love you.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I don't want you to be sad.”

“I wish I could hold you.”

But he sighs once after Dean calms a bit and stands. He begins to walk away, turning only once to stare at his coat, still hung up and obviously well taken care of. 

He smiles and Dean looks over. Dean gets up and attempts to steady himself with the nightstand- he never would give in to getting a cane. 

And he hobbles over to where the coat his. He starts to put it on, nearly falling in the process. It smells so much like him. Like angel food cake and too much toothpaste and hamburgers. Dean puts his back up against the wall and lets himself fall. He weeps.

And Cas sits in front of him all the while.


End file.
